


The Grace Of Death

by WKitsune_9240



Category: The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: M/M, graceling AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WKitsune_9240/pseuds/WKitsune_9240
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jude is graced, and with a single blade he can slay an entire army; but as the Crowned Prince he is to only attend to court matters. </p><p>Connor is graced, and with a single glance he can reveal your deepest desires; but as the seventh son of a new nations king, he must stay loyal to his nation, and their strict laws.</p><p>What happens when death meets lust, who wins out, love or loyalties?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grace Of Death

Jude stares at the wall of archers he was approaching, he heard the commander give his orders, “Fire!” He shouted, so loud that you could practically fill it in your bones.

 

Hundreds of arrows came toward him, and instinct kicked in. Most people's instinct would be to drop, with a wall of arrows heading in your direction. Jude’s was to run. He took off at top speed, trying to reach the arrows before they got to him.

 

It was fairly simple, dodging the arrows that is. He jumped, and ducked, and danced through the oncoming danger. Within seconds he had advanced halfway to the small army. And that was when he heard the commander's voice again, “Archers fall back! Swordsmen ready stance!”

 

Soon the arrows stopped coming. And he saw it, a line of the biggest men he had ever seen, at least three times his side, all wearing the heavy armor of the Cancic tribe, many dual wielding longswords, something that would seem impossible.

 

‘’Charge!” Once again the voice spoke.

 

A hundred men charged, all swing their swords, amichures. They kept hitting each other. And Jude just advanced, not slowing down. The closest “warrior” swung his sword, and it was inches away from Jude, he grabbed the blade, no blood coming from his bare hand.

 

The blade bent at his will, he pulled a dagger from his belt and, using the sword as balance jumped up and slit the man's throat. He fell instantly dead.

 

He picked up the sword and it fixed itself in his hand. He continued forward, slashing ever so often. He made his way to the other side of the field. Only stopping when the tip of his sword was at the commander's neck.

 

His eyes went wide, as he saw the field behind Jude, hundreds of corpses lying, many starting to decompose already.

 

Jude stared into the different eye’s of the commander, a light blue, and dark red staring back.

 

“Take me to the camp, and you may live.” Jude said, knowing that he couldn't let this man live, or any of the archers; they had seen his face, and more importantly, his eyes.

 

“Yo- You’- You’re him!” He old man stuttered. “The king’s son is death! Eyes of charcoal and white, surrounded by rich chocolate. You’re him!”

 

“Take me to the camp. Or you may die, here with the men who you sent to kill the king's eldest son.”

 

“But Sir, we are in alliance with your father. We are the Diviubts the mighty warriors of the kingdom. We swore fealty to him, I swear!”

 

“You are no ‘mighty warriors,’ you are criminals and peasants, willing to pick up a sword for the king's gold; as all of my father's army. I am here for the amulet. Of Ararki's the one of proficy.”

 

“My liege, we were returning it to your father, the rightful ruler!” The pity man that Jude held at blade’s tip smiled, as if that was true. Jude knew better.

 

“My father is not of right rule.” Was all he said, pushing the blade through the man’s throat.

 

The man collapsed to the ground, and Jude hated what he must next do. Jude’s grace was different, he had the grace of death, of killing, but he had more, much more.

 

He cut away the man’s shirt, and into his chest. He blindly reached in and pulled out his heart, bringing it up to his mouth, he bit.

 

Warm blood spilled into his mouth, and down his throat. Instantly the image came.

 

Came of a tamed wolf, a old house, an older couple, a young woman growing old, children, love; the wolf slaughtered by the father, the slaughterer of the father by the son, the suicide of the mother, the illness and suffering of his love, the children that left, death.

 

He dropped the heart, looking down at the man’s hands, and pulled off the ring that resides on his left ring-finger. He would send it to his daughter, thinking of her he realize that she was unwed.

 

She will be sent the ring and a small fortune, enough to buy a decent sized manor; his father wouldn't even realise it missing from the vault.

 

He tried to concentrate on the later part of the man’s life, on his latest movements. He sensed them, not to far.

 

He would rest tonight -seeing as the day's light was weakening- with his companions, Taylor and Daria, for although he need not much sleep, they rested little last night.

 

Taylor had been his childhood friend, at one point, not long ago, they were the only children their age in the castle.

 

Two year ago a group of graced came to the castle, as property to the king, Maddie had been one of them, not graced, but a healer; traveling with the group.

 

Tomorrow the group of three would go as themselves into the camp. He would have them to eat cooking prepared by him, as it was fatal -as anything he willed to be.

 

That night after the illness fell over the camp he would send his friends away, and arrange his murder like a tragedy, beautiful. making it look like a great battle, killing every archer and swordsman that walks within a mile of the amulet.

 

He approached the spot where he last seen his party, quietly trying not to spook the horses.

 

“Hello, Taylor.” He said as he saw her.

 

She turned and bowed low, “Crowned Prince.”

 

“I asked you not to do that, you are an equal. You are the Lady Samrik; if I pass you are to inherit my estate, the kingdom!”

 

“I am a girl, once I was a lady. I am no longer, I was revoked my title; I am no better than the servant that keep your room.”

 

“You are the fairest lady within the kingdom. Once my father dies you will be reimbursed the title of Lady of Central Lake. You, if anyone, deserves it.”

 

She huffed slightly, “That's enough of the emotions; I wanna help.” This was the friend he came to love.

 

“No.”

 

“Jude, I have seen you kill; hundreds if not thousands of times.”

 

“Lady Taylor, you have seen maybe ten, at most twenty deaths.”

 

“This is what the profession of my family, this is why I am no longer a lady.”

 

“A lady need not do this work.”

 

“I am no lady.” She said, nodding her head in a short bow, before leaving.

 

“She is no lady in her,” Jude turned on his heels, seeing the Lady Daria of Calmul Edge, he forced a smile.

 

“My lady, how have you found us?”

 

“This damned curse of mine.” He hated the way she referred to her grace, to graces of all.

 

His grace.

 

She, like most of the high ranking councilman within the castle, knew of his grace. The truth of his grace, the depth of his grace.

 

She knew more than many though, for she had seen his eyes.

 

She had seen his eyes, although most knew that he was a graceling, few knew the color of his eyes, for he rarely allowed those who had saw them to live.

 

Daria had the grace of tracking, and although she -for some reason- couldn’t track him, she could track Maddie and Taylor.

 

“What do you wish?”

 

She grinned, but the grin was more of a smirk. “I am in need of your service, I need the ring of my father.”

 

“Your father?” Rings were a symbol of power, of status. Daria’s father would hold the status of Duke of the Edge, her status was only a fraction of her father's.

 

After her father’s death, his children -all five- were all given lordships over his area.

 

Daria was the only girl, and was sent -by her brothers- to be the counselman of their region. If she, or anybody else, bared the ring of her land she would be the sole being responsible of the dukes power.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why would I allow you to become the Duchess of Edge, you are not fit of that title?”

 

“So I will not tell your father of this mission. You are due a hundred miles from here by the morning of two days forward. The scarlet that currently has the ring resides there, in a whore house.”

 

“And who is this harlot?” He asked.

 

“My father's first mistress.”

 

“What is it that makes you sure of this?”

After a moment's hesitation, she avoided his eyes as she responded, “Because she’s mother.”


End file.
